


Merry Christmas (You Filthy Animal)

by heyabooboo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Everyone Is Alive, Future Fic, Gratuitous use of italics, M/M, POV Stiles, Swearing, gratuitous pop culture references, pure christmas fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 06:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15382515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyabooboo/pseuds/heyabooboo
Summary: “This is going to turn into a gateway decoration, I just know it.” Derek grumbles to himself and his shoulders drop and he motions Stiles in like it’s such a heavy burden, letting a packmate into his loft. On second thought, Stiles doesn’t remember Derek ever decorating or even celebrating Christmas in any of the years before this one, but it’s the principle of the thing… Derek is allowing this. This is what personal growth and character development look like and Stiles is facilitating it.





	Merry Christmas (You Filthy Animal)

**Author's Note:**

> For my friend, Ripley, who requested Christmas Fluff... in July. 
> 
> Not betaed or alphaed, so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://www.heyabooboo.tumblr.com)!

Derek Hale is a scrooge.

 

That is to say, he's a scrooge at anything that Stiles tries to celebrate the holiday season with.

 

Case in point: Stiles wanted to hang mistletoe. not a whole lot, just... you know, at the front door. Technically, even, in the hallway, not even _in_ the loft.

 

"We're allergic to it, Stiles." Derek had sighed at him, like Stiles was there, just to test his patience. Which, if it pleases the court, he had been on his _best behavior_. Stiles has timestamps and receipts to prove it.

 

"Well, yeah, but only if you eat it, right? So... refrain from eating it. You _can_ do that, yeah?" it isn't his fault that the sass comes out around Derek. He just... brings it out in him. Like how Scott and Kira still make him gag when they get all doe-eyed around each other. It's sweet, don't get him wrong but just... _appropriate timing_ and all that. Such as, when Stiles isn't in the vicinity.

 

"No." and the fucker - he just closed the door on Stiles' face like... like that's just okay?

 

So he left the loft with a growl of his own innate human-ness and he -- well technically, he _retreated_. To gather more ideas and proper holiday decor for the werewolves in his life.

  
  


"What is _that_?" shit, Stiles hadn't even heard the door open over his breathing.

 

Carrying a nine-foot fake tree up the stairs really takes it out of ya.

 

Derek sounds bored, and his eyebrows even match the tone and Stiles just smiles, because really, who could resist his pearly whites? He got _commendations_ from his dentist, year after year for his oral hygiene, thank you very much. Plus, he likes to think that as murderous as Derek’s eyebrows are, his own smile is evenly matched in innocence, or snark, whatever the occasion calls for, really. His smile is very versatile.

 

"It's a tree." he finally puffs out after gaining most of his breath back.

 

One of Derek's eyebrows just barely quirks up on his forehead and his whole body is screaming _judgment_. "It's in a box." his eyes don’t even flicker from said box to look at Stiles. All disdain, just, on the box.

 

"Well, I'm sorry if I didn't go out and cut you down a real-life tree. This is better, see, because you don't have to worry about watering it, and like, disposing of it past New Year’s and -- oh, look, this one even is pre-lit. _Oooh, ahhh_." he grins even further after pointing to the cheery picture on the box of the tree lit up in all of its Christmas Glory in glossy color, leaning further to whisper to Derek like it's a secret, "That means the lights are already on it."

 

Derek sighs like he's going for the Gold in being inconvenienced. Like Stiles is here, _inconveniencing_ him. Which, rude. Stiles is a _joy_.

 

“This is going to turn into a gateway decoration, I just know it.” Derek grumbles to himself and his shoulders drop and he motions Stiles in like it’s such a heavy burden, letting a packmate into his loft. On second thought, Stiles doesn’t remember Derek ever decorating or even celebrating Christmas in any of the years before this one, but it’s the principle of the thing… Derek is _allowing this_ . This is what _personal growth_ and _character development_ look like and Stiles is _facilitating_ it.

 

The whoop he lets out in celebration _might_ echo around the building a little. But… just barely.

 

“So this is how you’re choosing to spend your winter break from school? Decorating my loft? There isn’t enough Christmas cheer at your house?” it’s too bad werewolves aren’t Known, because their strength really comes in handy for things like lifting awkwardly heavy shit, such as Christmas trees. But then maybe they’d be inundated with heavy-lifting tasks and then who would save Stiles from putting this monstrosity together? Yeah, it’s better that they live in secret.

 

“A little birdy told me Christmas is also your birthday and seeing as how Cora is… uh, _where is Cora_?” sometimes Stiles loses track of the Hales. Peter, it’s understandable - the man fades into shadow like smoke but somehow, he never loses track of just where Derek is. Huh. He’ll… resolutely ignore why that is at a later date.

 

“She’s with the rest of the pack in Italy.” Derek grunts like Stiles should know that as he puts the final piece of the tree together and turns curious eyes on him. “Erica said you were invited, but you declined.” And Derek’s not asking a question, but he’s… asking a question by not asking a question.

 

Ah, God. This… Is embarrassing. Stiles doesn’t even try to cover the fact and ducks his chin, rocking back and forth on his heels, “It didn’t seem right.” he looks at Derek quickly before darting them back towards the tree that still needs the lights to be plugged in and limbs directed from being smooshed in a box. “Leaving you here, alone. During Christmas and--”

 

“--It’s not my real birthday.”

 

Well. That shuts him up fast from making this even more embarrassing than it already is. Thank God for small miracles, right?

 

“ _Excuse me_ ?” he’s flabberghasted. Floored. Completely and totally… upset that he went through the trouble of finding the most perfect birthday gift he could ever come up with for the dumb werewolf and then said werewolf just goes and spoils his plans like the… the _plan spoiler_ he is, “What do you mean it’s not your _real_ birthday? What’d you do, forge a birth cer… you _forged a birth certificate_?!”

 

Derek’s huff is overdramatic and his eyeroll makes his shoulders move with the force of it. “I didn’t forge a -- for someone who breaks the law a lot, you’re being judgmental about a fake ID.”

 

And hey! Stiles takes offense to that! He doesn’t break the law _a lot_ . “At least I follow speed limits and I have _never_ been arrested, unlike someone else I could name!” he shoots back, finger pointed accusatorily in Derek’s direction.

 

Derek’s eyes go wide and he unfolds his arms to point right back at Stiles, “ _You_ were the one who _got_ me arrested!”

 

Scoff, eyeroll, deflect. Three things that Stiles should have _Platinum_ status in at the Olympics. “Your own actions got you arrested, buddy.” The words barely even make it out of his mouth before he’s being manhandled to the damn door. “Hey, whoa, no we’re not done decor--ahh!” Derek gives him a soft push to send him into the hallway, and because he’s still as graceful as a kitten, he stumbles over his own two legs.

 

“Goodbye, Stiles.” Derek huffs as he rolls the door closed in his face for the second time in two days and somehow it’s worse than a door slamming when he hears the lock click.

  
  


“Come on, you can’t stay mad at me _forever_.” Which is actually starting to feel like it could be a possibility the more time goes on. He’s sitting with his back to Derek’s door, legs outstretched in front of him. He’s been here going on three hours and he’s starting to forget things, like who the killer was on Harper’s Island and how crayons are made. He wore down the battery on his phone to twenty percent within the first hour, just trying to wait out Derek and play mobile games, and the second hour was him singing all the Christmas carols he knew. Then he moved on to recanting the better parts of their exploits, and then morphed into wheedling Derek to open the door.

 

He's just about bordering on begging which is, of course, when Derek crests the landing at the stairs with a full paper bag in one arm and reusable bag hefted high on his shoulder, also full if its weight is any indication. His eyebrows draw down and he’d look murderous if Stiles didn’t know his expressions fluently. He bypasses any sort of civility as Stiles flails and pushes himself up to allow him in to unlock the door. “What’re you doing here?”

 

Belatedly, Stiles realizes just how close they are, how he’s pushed himself in between the wall and Derek instead of going to the other side of the hallway and… not being all up in his space. And it’s not like its his fault that he has a Pavlovian response to the smell of Derek’s cologne, a mix of aroused and scared. “Um, to apologize?” it’s not a question. He’d really come over to apologize. He just… thought that Derek was in the loft the whole time and ignoring him. “And!” Derek pulls the door open and Stiles ducks around him to pick up his own shopping bag full of ingredients. “To continue with decorating and the tradition of making cookies.”

 

Derek blinks at him like Stiles has suddenly started speaking in Latin - which, that’s not actually weird, because just this past summer, he’d been hit by a spell while reading a passage from a book (honestly he should’ve known better than to read aloud from an old book, just from how much he lists _The Mummy_ as one of the best cinematic masterpieces of all time) and he’d been confined to speaking Latin until Lydia and Danny had been able to reverse it. Surprisingly, Derek had been his translator for the awful three days. So, well, he shouldn’t look as confused as he does.

 

“Cookies?” Stiles tries, shaking the bag a little and Derek’s eyes follow the noise down before they’re coming right back up to stare at Stiles some more. It’s a little unnerving, being Derek’s sole focus. “Biscuit? Galleta? Ciastko?” he tries in French, Spanish and Polish, languages he knows Derek speaks and finally the last one seems to break him from the quiet.

 

“I know what cookies are.” he shakes his head and the keys jingle where he fidgets with them and holy shit, that’s gotta be the first time Stiles has ever seen Derek actually look… nervous? Unsure? About anything. “You --” and he squints at Stiles, clearly confused, “you came over to bake cookies?”

 

Stiles breaks out the wide smile that he knows stretches his face too much and makes him look a little deranged. “Uh huh!”

  


Which is how Stiles finds out that Derek’s favorite cookie is _snickerdoodles_ and if he hadn’t come to terms with his crush years ago, it probably would’ve been the kind of epiphany that would propel him into finally figuring out his feelings, because he can _feel_ the hearteyes he’s giving Derek as he watches him make them tea. Stiles is supposed to be mixing the dough for the good old fashioned chocolate chip cookies he’d brought supplies for. Instead, he’s making goo goo eyes at Derek’s shoulders as he moves the kettle off the burner and tilts the water into mugs.

 

“They were my Dad’s favorite, too.” and the secret is so pure and said in such a small voice that Stiles can’t say anything past the lump that’s formed in his throat. Instead, he blinks the tears back and pretends that he’s been stirring the whole time when Derek turns to set Stiles’ mug of chai tea close by, bag already discarded and spoon left behind, just like how Stiles likes. He’d bet Derek even knew how much sugar he prefers.

 

“My mom used to call me a peanut fiend,” Stiles admits, focused on the dough forming in the bowl under his spatula as he folds and mixes, “because I wanted peanut butter anything. The only way I’d eat toast was with peanut butter, if you asked me, my favorite food was pb&j, and my choice for candy was peanut brittle. She’d get me a box just for myself from See’s at Christmas. I haven’t had any since...”

 

The moment tugs on in silence until Derek’s phone vibrates in his pocket and he’s pulling it out, flicking to accept the call and bringing it to his ear. He doesn’t even get a word out before he’s tilting the phone down to address Stiles, “Cora says your phone is going straight to voicemail? She’s been trying to reach you.”

 

Stiles reaches for his phone in his own pocket and frowns at the screen, turning it to Derek when all he gets is the “Charge Your Goddamn Phone” symbol. Derek rolls his eyes and interprets, “His phone went dead, here.” before he’s swapping phones with Stiles and wandering off deeper into the loft. Stiles brings up Derek’s phone to his ear, “Hey Cora, sorry. Too much _Clue_ , you know?”

 

“Uh huh,” he can practically see the disbelief. Was it just a Hale genetic trait to be rude? Or were they taught this? “I know you were playing Bingo, don’t lie.” Busted. But, to be fair, The Price is Right Bingo is _fun_ okay? “Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you knew that Country Roads is go. God, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this dumb mission name.” Not even thirty seconds of talking to her and she’s insulted both him and arguably one of the best graphic novel inspired movies _ever_ and Stiles is counting every Marvel and DC movie made. How has he gone so astray in his friend choices?

 

“I think at the next pack meeting we need to bring up the discussion of separating you and Erica. For the good of the pack _and_ the world.” She hangs up on him, laughing.  

 

But hey, his plan is a-go and he can’t be too upset about that.

  
  


It comes to fruition in the late evening hours of the 23rd.

 

Derek’s face when he opens the door to a full hallway of his packmates is a glorious thing, because he’s obviously sleepruffled and drowsy, with the murder eyebrows in full effect, but it melts as his brain wakes up. If the big book on the coffee table is anything to go by, Derek had fallen asleep reading again.

 

“Wha-- Stiles?” because Stiles is standing front and center, smiling wide.

 

“Merry Christmas!” Stiles yells, “Now we’re doing presents a few days early, but we’re doing them later tonight after dinner.” he pauses and watches as Derek’s eyes dart from one person to another over his shoulder. “Surprise?”

 

Derek’s quiet for long moments watching as everybody filters in after standing aside and letting them in. Presents get laid under the tree while others immediately go to the couch and flick on the tv and he finally nods in understanding at Stiles, “This is why you bought the tree and made me hang lights and buy Die Hard?”

 

“Mmm, I made you buy Die Hard because it’s the best Christmas movie, with special consideration for the first two Home Alones and you should, at twenty-six, own _all_ of the Die Hards.” He grins at Derek’s huff in annoyance. “But yes, I planned this. So… impromptu Christmas guests _and_ a sleepover. You can kick us out tomorrow.”

 

He’s honestly expecting an earful, but Derek just blinks at Lydia rearranging the ornaments on the tree and Isaac and Boyd arguing over what setting to have the lights on while Kira curls under Scott’s arm on the couch and Jackson and Danny bicker next to them, fighting over what movie to watch and Chris makes a pot of coffee in the kitchen. The easy noise of pack gives the loft a warm environment that even Stiles can feel. Instead of arguing, Derek ducks his chin down, a soft, “Thank you,” being breathed out and Stiles doesn’t even care that Erica’s smirking at the two of them.

  


“I’m _just saying_ ,” Stiles says later, after dinner’s been had and presents have been exchanged and the parents tucked into their own conversation at the kitchen table while the ragtag group of kids sit in the living room and have their own space. The sky is dark outside the large windows and the tv turned down low, Just Friends showing off the comedic talents of Anna Faris and Ryan Reynolds. The parents have their irish coffees and Stiles had made a big pot of his mother’s special hot cocoa recipe for dessert, dishing it out to everyone, even if _they didn’t want it, Jackson_. “Who doesn’t like birthday cake ice cream?”

 

Derek shrugs from his place in the corner of the couch. Erica’s on the floor between them, head on Derek’s knee as he gently brushes fingers through her hair and she brushes Isaac’s, whose eyelids are droopy from his place in her lap, his belly propping up Cora, who also looks two seconds from falling asleep. Jackson, Malia, Boyd and Aiden are off to the side, still involved in their Uno tourney while Kira, Ethan, Danny and Scott continue their own conversation and making bets on the card game while watching the movie. Lydia comes in, wafting warm air that smells clean and fruity, hair still wet from her shower and sporting her new Christmas jammies that Allison had surprised her with. She parks it next to Erica on the floor, legs curling under her as she settles between Allison’s legs on the other side of Stiles and hands her a hairtie. Allison’s fingers start braiding her girlfriend’s hair when Derek finally responds.

 

“It’s just too sweet. It’s not my favorite.” he’s sucking on a candy cane and chuckles at Stiles’ scandalous expression, because Stiles is _scandalized_. Derek’s loose, relaxed like he hasn’t been since the start of the school year and Stiles wonders how hard it is for him, them all being away at different schools, only coming together during holidays and summer break, some even being on a different continent. Secretly, Stiles likes when he’s like this, without the weight on his shoulders and the stress lines in his forehead. Relaxed looks good on Derek.

 

“Alright then,” Stiles says, leaning into Derek’s shoulder to reach around him and swapping his empty mug of cocoa out for Derek’s full one, going cold on the table at Derek’s elbow, “what _is_ your favorite?” he asks after a sip, back in his spot.

 

The hand that had been in Erica’s hair comes up to pull the candy cane out of his mouth and Stiles tracks the movement before looking up into Derek’s face, suddenly a lot closer than he remembers. He’s also not expecting Derek’s other hand to fist in his flannel overshirt and pull him in to mash their mouths together in a kiss before Derek’s shifting them just so and his tongue is licking in and _Oh God_ it’s the best damn kiss Stiles ever could’ve dreamed of, and he’s spent a good portion of his time daydreaming about this.

 

“Mm,” Derek fucking _hums_ when he’s done mixing the taste of peppermint and cocoa together on their tongues, “I’ve always been a fan of mint chocolate chip.” he grins.

 

“I can see why.” Stiles doesn’t even know how he’s able to talk at the moment, body shock still. “It’s suddenly become my favorite.” he admits, eyes glancing between Derek’s eyes and his mouth as their noses bump and Lydia says nonchalantly from two feet away, “You all owe me and the Sheriff $20. I expect it before New Year’s or else I’ll take your kneecaps. Isaac, Jackson? You owe me double.”


End file.
